Countless Sleepless Nights
by JustCallMyName
Summary: Angels don't sleep, so what else is there to do after Dean has fallen asleep but count his freckles.


The night was to be proved to take it's transition to day slowly, the hours turning the sky into complex patterns of pinpoint light and smudged, inky blue swirls by the hour. It was as the night had fallen to it's blackest depths that Castiel began counting freckles.

The count was around fifty as the moon revealed prussian blue glints on the edge of the stars. He traced them with his eyes, his kiss swollen lips mouthing the numbers, whispering over the harsher 's' sounds as the rest were named in a sigh of breath. Apparently his whispers tickled the nose he had not finished inspecting, for the hunter twitched his nostrils, his brow graced with troubled lines and his head moved and settled anew, the rest of his body following. His face now lay flat on his left cheek, ballooning slightly in sleep induced looseness. He had rolled onto his side; his left hand disentangled itself from within Cas' hair and now lay pinned under is body, while his right remained on the thinnest part of the angel's exposed waist, slung over him in a calm possessiveness. And his ankles still lay tumbled together with Cas', the stark contrast of dark and light skin more apparent in the revealing moonlight, which threw the room into a black and white canvas. He had become distracted from the freckles in the move, watching with tender interest as the man settled closer to him. He watched the exposed and intricate curves of Dean's shoulder traced it to the point where it disappeared under the off-white covers - a brave colour choice for a two-star motel. Blinking slowly Castiel searched for the last freckle he had taken stock of. He found it again on the bridge of the man's nose. 56, 57, 58...

As the sky began to lose it's deep noir to a deep encompassing blue Castiel had begun to whisper the numbers of the freckles on his subject's right cheek. He had discovered that the man had less of the dark marks on the right side of his nose than the left. The count was only around ninety now. On this cheeks the marks were further apart, more hidden than the cluster of blemishes - blessed blemishes - on his nose, as if they had all begun at that one point and spread outwards from there to speckle the rest of the man's face. Castiel softly cupped a hand under the hunter's jaw, careful now to disturb his sleep any more. He used his thumb, hovering a millimetre above his cheek to keep track of the chain of dots. 92, 93, 94...

Outside the light of the stars began to extinguish, overcome by the trickles of sun which tentatively felt around the edge of the curtains, but still too weak to overcome the moon's ethereal beauty. Castiel had claimed all of the freckles on his forehead and was now noting the dashes which flecked Dean's ear, outside and in the sensitive swirls. He strayed from his counting as he lost himself the haze of memories of his lips nipping over those ears, gently kissing the dark dots, not noticing them in his hushed passion. He could still feel the softness of them against his lips, wet from the kisses he had placed there himself until Dean pulled him roughly away, chastising him with a smile and enveloping Cas' lips with his, claiming them back from their quick triste with his earlobe. Cas sighed softly, his breath ruffling the sleeping man's hair. Castiel had run out of freckles to count, the rest lay hidden on the linen of the bed. He bit his lip, wanting to leave his lover sleeping, but felt he needed to finish his task. Castiel watched him breathe, deep and unhindered. Moving tentatively closer Cas caught his lips on Dean's chapped ones, dry from sleep and lack of Castiel's tugs and licks. Dean stirred slightly, his head moving, still seemingly in sleep, to give Cas a fuller access, sighing contentedly. Cas removed himself from the hunter, watching his head rub and settle again, now leaving the other side of his face open to the angel's gaze. There were thin lines, maze-like, where the fabric of the bed had ungraciously carved into his sculpted face. But he resumed, his eyes flickering over the red lines, watching as the carefully unfolded themselves. 139, 140, 141.

Sunlight inched into the room, leaking its way across the floor, climbing up the bed and caressing Castiel's body, adding colour to his still pale skin before smoothing itself over the still sleeping form of Dean. As the liquid light pooled on his eyes, the man woke, slowly. He shifted in small amounts, taking in a deep, filling breath and arching his spine. His fingers grasped in childlike confusion at the warm mass of Castiel's hip beneath his fingertips, the prickle of pins and needles now feeding its way into his left arm. He stretched his back, groaning at the freeing feeling of his muscles releasing. His eyelashes fluttered open, the first thing he saw was his angel's chill blue eyes. A drowsy smile hazed across his lips, his voice sounded dry and soft, like a summer wind. "Cas...have you been watching me sleep the whole night? Angels really don't sleep...do you?" Cas smiled, feeling the same haziness, as if he too was waking up. He whispered to Dean, his voice still sounding like it had trodden on fine gravel, "186."

Dean's brow furrowed, feeling as if the morning was impairing his thoughts and hearing, "Excuse me...?" Castiel shook his head in small motions, mouthing that it wasn't of any matter. He leaned in to kiss the hunter's newly wakened lips and paused. He gazed on Dean's bottom lip, a perfectly circular freckle graced it. Castiel whispered softly onto Dean's lips, onto that freckle. "187..."


End file.
